


The Senator We Deserve

by BernieSaunders



Category: Bernie Sanders - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29646024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BernieSaunders/pseuds/BernieSaunders
Summary: A U.S. senator fighting for the rights of the working class by day, Senator Bernie Sanders fights evil on the floor of the Capitol building. But by night, there is a looming darkness threatening the American people. Just when Bernie thought it was difficult to battle capitalism, the capitalism incarnate is brought back to the Earth. With the help of his allies, some luck, and maybe a little bit of magic, our favorite Vermont politician will have to confront this force.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Although some characters and locations may be inspired by real-life people or places all events of this story are matters of fiction. Any correlation between events told in this story and the real-world are coincidence.

After a long day of work in the Capitol, Senator Bernie Sanders clears the papers from his desk and returns them to his briefcase. He rubs his eyes gently, fighting for the rights of American citizens is no easy task. Many hours had been spent in this office, reviewing documents, studying state legislature, and editing bills. But his battle for the United States of America had just begun. Like most nights while working in Washington D.C. Bernie returned to his home, only a short walk from the Capitol building.

The Fall breeze blew softly as Bernie walked down the night streets of D.C. Leaves rustled like curious whispers along the roads as he walked. The soft patter of his leather shoes greeting the night. His mind raced as he searched for a way to support the American people in the ways they needed, the ways they deserved. But with a deep sigh he cleared his thoughts, he had other plans for tonight.

Arriving at his home in D.C. he hangs his coat up on the hanger and leaves his mittens on a table as he enters his home. The carpet swished as he made his way toward his study. Elegant wood moulding adorned the walls of his office. A wide mahogany desk sat in the center, flanked by tall bookshelves on both sides. The desk was home to a stack of papers that needed to be attended to, a cold cup of coffee long forgotten, and a dusty lamp that was dimmer than you’d expect. The shelves held a collection of legal texts and political analyses. Each thick tome interposed by the occasional philosophy pamphlet or long forgotten graduate textbook. But on that shelf lay one special tome.

Bernie reached his hand out and pulled his copy of 101 Must See Vermont Birds from the shelf. A light click resonates from behind the bookshelf as its grip on the wall loosens, pulling away. The shelf swings forwards revealing a staircase leading farther under the senator’s home. After descending a considerable distance Bernie comes to an ornate metal door. Intricate gothic patterns engraved into its surface. He places his palm onto a reader as a voice speaks from the door.

“Hand print identified, password?” the voice asks.  
“Medicare for all.” Bernie replies.  
“Welcome home senator.” the voice responds as the metal door swings open. The sound of steam sputtering from the mechanics as the massive panel is unlatched.

Bernie enters his study, the air cold but damp. The smell of the room not far departed from that of an old greenhouse, earthy and unabashed. 

He walks down a long concrete corridor. Pipes trailing across the ceiling above his head. At the end of the hall, Bernie reaches his planning room. A large cork board hangs from one wall covered in pictures and articles detailing a recent string of deaths in the city.

Bernie was closing in on what he believed to be an assailant in the city. All of the different incidents connected by one factor. A funeral home in Washington with unusually late hours. All of the victims had been brought to a certain Willbrook’s Funeral home not too far from here. He had his suspicions, but it never hurt to be careful.

On a table near the planning board was a modest revolver, its bullets glinting under the warm orange lights of his den. Next to it lay a series of different plants and charms of unusual make and fashion. He packs the revolver into his coat holster and grasps one last object from his table, a brass key only meant for dangerous outings. He walks over to a slot in the wall with a keyhole and turns the key.

A heavy metal wardrobe slides out from the wall, its doors open presenting a wider array of tools, weapons all exotic and familiar. Vicious curved blades showed their teeth, and old firearms of days past shone themselves once again to the Senator from Vermont.

“A night time encounter with a vampire calls for a specific impetus for cooperation.” He says as he grasps a set of wooden stakes from the wardrobe, storing them in his coat.

“I suppose it is time to pay a visit to a Ms. Annabelle Willbrook.” The senator says out loud into his space.

He saunters quietly back up the stairs and makes his way towards the funeral home. 

Some time later he arrives at a building with a solemn wooden sign. “Willbrook Funeral Home” and enters the building. A soft bell tone ringing out into the night as the door shudders closed behind him. After a handful of seconds a young pale woman with long black hair enters the room from a door behind the front desk.

“Good evening sir, how may I help you tonight?” She asks.  
“Hi, yes, I am unfortunately looking to evaluate my options for how to take care of my dear wife after her passing this weekend.”

“Of course sir, I am terribly sorry for your loss.” The words escape from her mouth with a sweet tinge. The intonation of her tone, soothing in the same way a snake’s venom consumes its prey.

“I must say, it is very convenient that you are open so late. I don’t imagine you see many customers at this hour?”

“You would be surprised sir, we have a great deal of foot traffic because of our hours of operation.”

“Ms. Willbrook, I have to say I have lived in this city for many years. You are relatively new aren’t you?”

“Yes sir! We moved in just about a year ago, we certainly have been loving the city. Despite the morbidity of our work. May I show you some of your options?”

“Of course.” The senator responds tersely.

The two stroll through the gallery. Rows of caskets lining the room, of various shapes and sizes. Bernie brushes the wood finish of one of the caskets and sighs shortly.

“Horrible news these days. It’s like a dark storm cloud has rolled over D.C.. A hiking accident, a mugging last week, and not one but two! Young men were beaten to death in an alley this week. Now that I think about it, all of their families are being served by your business.”

“What is it you are implying sir?” The woman responded. Her eyes flickering for a brief moment with malice and vitriol.

“I think you will have to tell me Annabelle. Have I just stumbled across a coincidence?”

The two stand square to each other, eyes met. The soft sighing of the night in this moment held its breath in anticipation. Bernie stood watching his opponent carefully as she stood opposite him across a large black casket. When he was younger these confrontations would make him nervous. But now, a silent symphony of calculations raged through his mind. The angles predicted, each move seen ahead of its time.

With the same suddenness the moment had come, it passed. The funeral home clerk lunged across the casket, slender curved claws extending from her fingertips. 

Expertly Bernie dodges backwards, the casket toppling to the ground in front of him. He reaches into his coat and brandishes his revolver.

“We can come to a resolution Annabelle.” He exclaimed. “There is no need for tonight to end in bloodshed.”  
With frightening speed she bound across the casket and swiped for the senator’s face. This act took him by surprise. He falls backwards into another casket, both landing on the ground with considerable force.

“We need to find you a better way Annabelle, I cannot allow you to continue to hurt people and feed on this community.” Bernie exhaled from the ground. Splinters prying at the edges of his arms.

“You know nothing of my experience, senator. I have no interest in living my life at the whim of you mortals.” She screeched as she lifted the black casket over her head.

Digging her heels into the ground, she hurls the casket across the gallery towards the senator. Narrowly escaping, he rolls to the side as the casket splinters into panels beside him.

Bernie returns fire with his revolver, two shots ring out into the air whizzing past the young woman. The third meeting its mark in her shoulder, a hot sizzling erupting from her flesh.

Annabelle let out a pained yelp as she grasped her shoulder. Blessed ammunition was uncommon among regular folk, but she had met no regular mortal tonight. With a swift turn, the woman fled deeper into the recesses of the funeral home.

“Annabelle, please let us end this without further suffering.” The senator cried out as he followed in close pursuit.

Within the succeeding rooms were the different bodies of the late victims of her crimes. Each sucked dry of their blood, and in various stages of the internment process. Through a set of plastic flaps and two rotating doors, Bernie had found his vampire. She stood hunched over a desk in a small dark room. What seemed like an office, an old computer with various spreadsheets open buzzed lightly in the background.

“There will be no future for the likes of you very soon Senator. You have no idea what you have suddenly involved yourself in.” The woman rasped. Her hand holding a handgun resting on the table.

“Let’s not do anything rash now Annabelle.” Bernie warned, reaching into his coat.

“You are old senator, you are weak, and you are frail. But most importantly, you are short on time.” She replies, each word separated by labored breaths.

With a sudden jerk she whips the gun around herself towards the senator. In a flash of speed the senator’s hand presents itself in front of him. A wooden stake piercing the heart of the funeral home owner as she slumps to the floor. A soft sigh escaping through her lips as she slumps to the floor. 

“Really truly a shame.” Bernie says as he rubs the deep aches he begins to feel in his muscles.

The senator sifts through the old computer system finding correspondence about a party scheduled for that night. Within the desk he finds a small envelope with an invitation.

“190 Borderville Rd. 

You are cordially invited to partake in a night of great festivities and fun. Bring a masquerade mask and be ready for the night of your life! Bring a friend, be prepared!

Yours truly,  
The Mortons”

The senator retrieves his phone from his coat pocket. 

“Hi Alexandra, you’ll want to meet me tonight. Come to this address, 190 Borderville Rd.”


	2. Fighting Capitalism...Literally?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following up on the mysterious invitation found at the funeral home, Bernie finds himself at a masquerade party. Upper class, black tie, and a mysterious cult ceremony. Unfortunately this would not be just another night for our favorite senator, it would be the beginning of a living nightmare.

Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez answers the phone, no stranger to her own nocturnal crime fighting.

“Is everything okay Bernie? What’s on Borderville road? AOC asks

“Something not good AOC, bring the sword, and a car if things get sticky.”

Tired and aching, Bernie exits the funeral home. He walks down the dark D.C. streets tending to his wounds as he travels toward the subway station. “Now that is going to leave a mark.” He says, a dark bruise beginning to develop from his fall.

The toll of age begins to creep into his mind. He was certainly not as infallible as he was in his younger years. Senses, reactions dulled from the inescapable tide of time. The events of the night replay in his mind. Perhaps if he was still as quick as he used to be, he could have apprehended Annabelle without taking her life. The night used to make him feel alive, powerful even. But these days he fears he will someday fail to keep up with the ever growing inhabitants of the night. “I have to say, vampires are certainly easier to defeat than Wall Street.” He murmurs to himself. The senator, a small drop against the sea of night that envelops him. An ocean of lives made, lives lost, most of which unknown to him. That small raindrop makes its way down the steps of the subway station, against the tide.

Cold fluorescent light bathes the creases of his person. The empty station, expansive, and in many ways uninhabitable to the eyes. The senator waits patiently at the yellow line. What could be at this party tonight? He holds the parchment in his hands, running his thumb over its surface. “You can’t fault them on their choice of parchment.”

The train arrives in the station. A wave of stale air rushing over him as it passes. The hiss of the train welcomes the senator aboard like a boat greeting it’s solemn captain. He takes a seat inside the train. Strangely enough, a passenger sits on the far end of the cart from him. A tall, thin man sat in the seat nearly asleep. His arms proportioned strangely to his body. They hang by his side, at a glance too long for his body. The man clutches a hat close to his chest, dozing. For some time the pair continued this way. They sat in silence, two entities not acting upon one another, but aware of each other.

Bernie flipped the party invitation in his hands. Wisps of gold leaf swirling on the cover, contrasted by a deep red color of the cardstock. Sharp like a blade, his voice cut through the silence. 

“Looking for a fun time tonight senator?” The stranger asked.

Bernie stows the invitation, suddenly struck with the reality of his situation.

“Keen eye sir, but I’m on my way home. Need to fit some sleep in before tomorrow.” The senator responded.

“Oh no Mr. Senator. I think I will fetch a fine penny if I can escort you to the party. What a fun coincidence that we would run into each other here.”

In this moment Bernie detected the ever slightest sense of, shape-changing. Had he seen the man’s eyes flicker? Had the eyes always been green? Was that really how his face looked?

The man gets up from his seat, making his way towards Bernie. Heavy footfalls striking the floor of the train. Bernie tracking his movements, trying to judge his weight, fight or flight? Soon the decision would be made for him. The man rapidly changing before his eyes. Think scales appearing from under his skin. Claws emerging from his arms as the very shape of his body changed. With slit eyes and forked tongue, a being of primordial Earth stood before Senator Bernie Sanders. A tall lizard man stood, arms rippled with muscle and dark claws detailing the ends like evolutionary spear points. This creature had seen centuries of slaughter, and lived to see centuries more.

His forked tongue flipping through the air. With a sudden brutal speed, the man swings wildly at the senator. A rush of talons rushing past his face. Expertly Bernie dodges backwards and the talons gouge the seat behind him. Splayed out on the ground Bernie rolls deftly to the side, flanking the monster.

“Tonight is going to be one of those nights huh.” Bernie mutters to himself as he gets to his feat, raising his arms in preparation for a fight.

Two more swings lashing out at the senator, the monster attacking with reckless abandon. His posture characterized by a ferocity unknown to humanity. Both attacks missing their mark, the senator from Vermont proving to be too agile despite his old age. Although avoiding harm, the senator is slowly losing ground in the train cart, beginning to approach the door of the train car.

The scaled beast lifting his arms high above his heads. Clenched fists coming down with unnatural force as Bernie braces himself under. A sickening thud as the hammer of scales strikes him. Retaliating, Bernie strikes back, landing a punch directly into the creature’s side only to be greeted by a hard carapace. The creature unphased by Bernie’s attempts.

“Nice try senator, my turn.” The creature hisses in a low growl as long grotesque razors whip across Bernie’s coat.

The sharp edges glide past Bernie’s side, his coat being reinforced with military grade textiles, but the force of the blow landing nonetheless. With quick reaction Bernie seizes a window of time in the onslaught to draw his revolver. But to Bernie’s dismay, the creature’s horrible size obstructs him. A stray elbow swinging around the trunk of its body and knocking the metal equalizer to the ground, it sliding under the bench of the cart.

“I see this will have to be handled the hard way.” The senator rebuts, rolling across the floor, and repositioned in front of the window of the subway train.

“You talk too much, and you move too much!” The beast yells as it swings wide towards the senator.

With a deft calculation Bernie dodges the swipe. The monster’s claws tearing open the window behind him, shards of glass falling to the ground beneath him.

“You can do much better than that! sir.” Bernie exclaims as he regains his footing.

With one last attempt the scaled monstrosity charges the senator head on, arms outstretched. Like a matador Bernie ducks between the animal’s arms. It’s oblong body teetering forward as his balance is lost. Bernie emerges behind the creature, and with a swift leap he dropkicks the beast in its back. The massive weight of the monster curling forward as he slides into the moving tunnel of the subway. Violent shrieks erupting from its maw as it is dragged out of the moving train, the sound rapidly trailing off into the silence that now accompanied Bernie.

“That will do. I yield my time.” Bernie mutters, chuckling slightly to himself as he rises to his feet. He steps carefully across the train car, bones tired from the abuse of the night, towards his revolver. He holds the gun in his hands and admires it briefly. He reviews its worn, but familiar wooden grip. A dark, dense material encasing the silver frame of the firearm. Images of birds in flight etched on the surface of each chamber of the revolver. He recalls a story he was told when given the revolver as he returns it to its holster. It supposedly was passed between a series of Polish immigrants to the United States. A crafted memento of the pursuit of a brighter future, and the need to protect it. 

With some time the train comes to a stop. Bernie exits the train. “I suppose my night can’t get too much worse at this rate.”

Only a few short blocks from the subway stop, Bernie arrives at the house, 190 Borderville Road. Its large brick frame standing amongst a sea of wealthy homes. A large wrought iron fence surrounding its perimeter. The house was composed of tall, rather predictable shapes. It’s design in many ways a communication of wealth more than an expression of aesthetic. Yet in its conformity, it exuded feelings of the unnatural. The humanity of it and its inhabitants long forgotten in its construction. 

On a street parallel to the home was a black Cadillac waiting for Bernie. Emerging from the car was congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. A pump shotgun hanging by a strap on her back.

“You look like Hell Bernie, you can’t keep doing this forever.” She pleaded.

“I can’t live without the night breeze AOC and you know this. 10 guage?” The senator replies.

“You’re lucky I am patient Bernie.” She responds teasingly, loading shells into the underbelly of the rifle.

“I think I can handle it, best not make too much of a grand entrance. Did you bring my suit?” He asks.

“Alright well I will keep the car running, the suit is in the trunk.” 

Opening the trunk of the car, Bernie changes quickly into his tuxedo, stowing the pistol in his coat. Placing the mask onto his face he starts his way towards the house. “Been a long time since I attended a masquerade.”

Reaching the entrance, two large wooden doors embedded with the image of lions stand before him. Large golden rings lay in the surface of the door, Bernie rings the heavy knockers. Dull wooden thuds ring as he awaits entry to the event.

An unassuming man answers the door. “Card?”

Bernie hands him the invitation. “Very excited to see the festivities tonight.”

“Right this way sir, it all leads up to tonight sir.” He replies as he ushers the senator into the home.

The foyer of the mansion is flanked by sweeping staircases that lead to the upper floors. Guests fill the home all talking loudly amongst themselves, tendrils of conversation escaping into the room. Each attendee speculating on what the ultimate event of the night would truly be.

“I was told it would be the second coming of Christ.”

“I was actually told that they were going to reveal Q’s identity tonight.”

“I was promised that this evening would be the night we all get to drink from the fountain of youth.”

The senator wades his way into the crowd, disappearing as quickly as he had arrived. He wandered the outskirts of this fringe society, making small talk, and floating between groups of people to avoid suspicion. The house truly was beautiful in some regards on the inside. Tall ceilings capitalized by paintings the size of people. Gold and silver trinkets littering the walls. Some rooms dutifully overseen by the lifeless gaze of taxidermy beasts, some familiar, some foreign.

“It is time all, please make your way up to the second floor.” A slender man announces to the crowd. His hair white and fashioned to one side aggressively. In many ways his person reflecting that of the house, irrefutably synthetic and devoid of humanity. His eyes dark and dull peering out from under the mask. The eyes of a man who had committed many years of betrayals.

Bernie makes his way up the stairs with the rest of the attendees, arriving at a wide open room where the master bedroom would have been. An expanse of hardwood met with a window facing the night sky, the moon shining through its silvery panels. On the floor knelt a man, naked and bound to the ground by metal shackles. The man knelt in the center of a painted ritualistic circle on the ground. Symbols litter the floor all reminiscent of astronomical characters and satanic images. Candles sit atop the floor, illuminating a dark festival soon to occur.

“Good evening all, it is time we all gather around the circle. Please take care to not interfere with what we have constructed here. It is imperative that we preserve the bridge that our lord will cross.” Says the slender man.

Murmurs flitter across the crowd as they lay witness to the ceremonial preparations.

“As you may have all realized there are servants distributing your tools for the next step of the procedure.” Suited people distributing razor blades to the guests of the evening. “We ask that you draw blood from your palms, and let your life force grace the floor.”

Nervous jitters permeating the crowd. One man overwhelmed by the events attempts an escape from the room.

“This is crazy! I just signed up for this as a joke, you’re all insane!” he exclaims as he pushes towards the door. One of the suited men grabbing him and holding him tight, arms splayed out.

“Ah a volunteer, now is the time everyone. Let us welcome our lord.” Says the speaker.

Patrons of the party all drawing blood. Bernie holding his blade carefully, concealing it in his pocket. Short outbursts accentuate the silence as the party goers prick and prod their hands. The iron scent of blood permeating the room as the slender speaker approaches the man knelt on the ground.

“At last, we open the vessel for the return of our king.” He says as he reaches towards a pillow being held by one of the servants. Atop it lay a vicious curved dagger with a wooden handle dark with blood. He takes the dagger and plunges it deep into the back of the kneeling man.

With sudden dark force the center of the circle erupts with flame. The sacrificial man’s screams filling the room as the fire recedes suddenly. The room silent, the denizens all looking on, had the ritual failed? Their attention returning to the man, shaking ever so slightly. His head vibrating side to side relentlessly, painfully. The shaking becomes flailing as his muscles flare unnaturally every which way. The angles of his person performing a macabre dance in the circle as wisps of dark smoke begin to erupt from his eyes. The smoke multiplies, and replaces the air it is in battle with. Tendrils of smoke whip through the air like snakes uncertain of which prey to choose first. People one by one begin to meet their demise. These wisps gripping their palms, horrible shrieks permeate the room as they try to free themselves. Each one being pulled into the air, held limp by their hands until dropped sickeningly to the floor. The man suddenly begins to float in the air. His shackles being undone as the death in the room reveals but one party goer. One person stands against the silhouette of lost lives against the floating body of the sacrificed man.  
“I am reborn! The second coming of John D. Rockefeller has come.” And thus the beast of capitalism once more prepared unleash its wrath upon the world.

Bernie had never seen forces of such great darkness, such evil. He dashed for the windows, tendrils sprouting from the man’s back as he remained floating. These tendrils whip towards senator, narrowly missing. Bracing himself, Bernie throws his weight against the glass, crashing towards the lawn. 

With great fear fueling his veins he runs towards the Cadillac. “Drive AOC, drive!” He shouts as he pulls open the side door, a writhing mass of darkness floating out from the second floor of the house on Borderville Road. 

“What the hell is that Bernie!” She exclaims as the car grips the pavement, screaming off into the night. 

The senator sits silent in his seat, eyes wide with fright. After the car stops congresswoman Ocasio-Cortez peers into the back of the car. “You need to tell me what is going on Bernie.” She asks.

Without answer, Bernie stares ahead, the events of the night rewinding furiously in his mind. Shaking violently in the back seat, he wipes the cold sweat from his forehead. Never had the senator from Vermont appeared so small in the face of adversity.


	3. Apollo 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the shadow of a newly risen evil, our beloved duo begins to recuperate from the events of the party on Borderville Road. While a plan is devised for the two, Bernie takes a trip to Florida for personal reasons. In a flurry of conspiracy and pursuit, our favorite senator will go to the moon and back, but for what?

The Cadillac blew down the night streets of D.C., a silent black bullet curving through it’s interior. The thoughts racing through Bernie’s mind as he recalled the events of the night. What had he just seen? Where does he even begin? The black wings sprouting from that man’s back as the ritual completed clung to his mind. He struggled to comprehend the images of the ritual on Borderville road. How could the mortal mind comprehend witnessing life returning to an empty vessel. A soul entering a vessel that was not its own. A vile soul reaching, crawling its way into a mold of the wrong shape. Forcing the impressions, memories and identity out of this body, replacing it all in its own image.

“What was that Bernie, you need to start talking to me.” AOC said as she began to load special slugs into the shotgun in the passenger side seat.

“Alexandra, I need you to lay low for a while. No more gallivanting out at night until I get back, okay?” Bernie replied, seemingly having devised a plan.

“Well what am I supposed to do? I can’t sit around with that thing running around the city. Maybe it’s still weak, we can strike it now.”

“Not it, he. That is the spirit of Rockefeller, AOC. I have a plan, but I will need you to stay safe until then.”

“You have a way to handle this?”

“ I will need you to do some research while I am gone, but I will need better equipment. Can you access the federal archives? I need you to find out what we are up against.”

“What are you planning then?” She asked.

“I will be taking the first flight out to Florida in the morning.”

“You’re not going on vacation are you?”

“No, Kennedy Space Center.”

Senator Bernie Sanders looks across the United States Capitol, fire and flames consuming its domed roof as leathery winged devils swoop down from the skys. He lay in the rubble of a building recently demolished as crows float down and pry at his exposed arms. Somewhere beyond the curtain of crows he sees it again. The dark form of John D. Rockefeller floats down the streets, volleys of fire and lightning erupting from his arms. Inky writhing tentacles flit about from his back, whipping side to side, searching. A voice calls out to him from beyond the fire and destruction.

“Sir? Would you like a drink?” Says the flight attendant.

“Oh, yes, can I have water please. Thank you.” He says, jolting awake. 

The senator wipes the sweat from his brow, sitting upright in his chair. His body slightly aloft as the plane hits a bump of turbulence. He looks wearily out the window, waking up from the only sleep he has gotten since the party. He overhears a passenger sitting across the aisle as the attendant leaves a cold water bottle on his tray.

A medium build man sits in the aisle seat leaning over the armrest towards another passenger. He wears a T-shirt approximately a size too large, and has old jeans with stains where the hands rest. Hair receding from the top of his head seemingly having propagated itself onto his face where a coarse wild beard lay across his chest. Bernie looks on as the man rattles off conspiracy after conspiracy from his yellowing teeth. Spit flicking from his lips at the apex of every sentence.

“You really can’t believe everything you read out there man. We can barely know this plane is going to make it to Florida.” The man goes on for some time, speaking of dark cabals, lizard peoples, and lasers from space. “I really hate to be the guy putting his life on the line, but you know someone needs to do the hard work around here.” He says drawing a limp cigarette from his back pocket.

“Sir, you can’t smoke on a plane.”

“Absolutely ridiculous, okay fine whatever.” He responds as he returns the cigarette to his pocket.

Bernie exits the plane and takes a taxi to his hotel. The palm trees lazily swinging in the midday breeze of the Sunshine State. An older man driving the cab makes small talk with Bernie as they make their way to the hotel.

“What brings you to Florida this time of year?” He asks.

“Uhh, you could say work.”

“One of those conference things?”

“Of a sort.” The senator responds.

The car rolls lazily into the receiving area of the hotel. Warm humid air enveloping Bernie as he steps out onto the pavement. He knows he can’t get into the space center until after dark. For now it is time to rest. With great ardure, Bernie makes his way to the elevator, and subsequently makes his way to his room. Before even making it into the bed, the senator from Vermont falls asleep, propped up against the side of the bed. This time no nightmares plague Bernie’s mind, lacking the energy for even that.

A light beeping rings into the dark. The alarm on his watch waking him in the evening hours. 

“Gotta love the nine to five.” He chuckles to himself. He turns on the lights, feeling the pulling in his eyes as they adjust. He loads his revolver, and takes a quick glance in the bathroom mirror. Dark bags under his eyes, years of action and combat leaving their marks upon his face. Struggle, battle, loss, success, all leaving their impressions in the lines of his image. With a quick gesture he returns the firearm to its holster. With no other disruptions and a newfound sense of determination he makes his way to the John F. Kennedy Space Center.

Making his way down the concrete pathways towards the main building he sees a rocket being prepared. This vessel was meant to bring some researchers to the moon, but maybe he could cash in a favor with the NASA guys and hitch a ride. But upon approaching one of the guard booths he realizes something very wrong. No one guards the booth, and a crimson trail snakes its way down the path. Inside the booth lay the body of a guard, his nametag reading Jason Gardner.

“Oh goodness, Jason, who’s done this to you.” Bernie remarks. He had met this man a series of times. A good man, wife and kid waiting for him at home. He thought of his son Mark, how old was he now? His son had just turned 9.

“Well let’s find who did this to you okay.” The senator makes his way up the path.

Further in the complex he finds the entrance to the main building tampered with. The panel dangling from the wall by a series of wires. The senator makes his way into the building, hand waiting in his coat pocket, grasping his pistol.

“This has to be about the rocket.”

Bernie makes his way to the control room only to be mortified at what lay before him. The entirety of staff manning the control room lay strewn about, slaughtered. Deep gashes penetrating their bodies, blood flooding the room.

“Oh God, what in the world are we dealing with here.”

He begins to run towards the rocket, a man beginning to cross the metal bridge connecting to its side. He sees the man from the plane, but this time a heavy reptilian tail dangling from his waist. Powerful scaled arms hanging by his side.

Bernie took aim, firing off a series of shots. Each ricocheting off the side of the rocket. The man turning with frightening speed. The bullets passing by his body, its yellow eyes piercing through the night as they connect with Bernie’s.

Bernie takes a breath, the world falling quiet around him. Both hands extending in front of him, the sights of his revolver crossing the midsection of the lizard man. A slow exhale, the pounding of his heart slowing. A soft pull of the trigger follows, the pressure ever familiar to him.

The bullet rips through the air, the man leans at the very last second to the left. The neurons in his ancient primal brain firing, the pinnacle of evolution. The bullet only barely grazing his shoulder.   
Hissing ferociously the man runs towards the rocket, Bernie following in pursuit. Standing precariously far from the doorway, Bernie realizes the predicament he is in. The lizard man having entered the rocket swings violently at the bridge. The weight of his muscular arm barreling through the metal trusses of the structure like a freight train.

“You cannot keep me from your Jewish space lasers senator. I hope you know how to fly.” The reptilian man exclaims.

Bernie makes a running leap towards the rocket. The doorway quickly rising away from his sight. The air rushing past him as he falls towards the ground. He quickly reaches into his pocket, pulling out a string of prayer beads.

“I am glad I picked these up in Nepal.” He remarks as he lashes them towards the rocket. The pale cream colored beads transforming into a string of radiant white light. It’s length extending towards the rocket and latching it’s metallic hide. Bernie strikes the side of the tube with a sickening thud, but luckily still grasping his beads. He sees a container hatch by his side, loosening the screws and crawling inside. Using the beads he begins to climb his way up the side of the rocket towards the entryway. The rocket begins its ascent, fire enveloping the launch pad as Bernie hastens his way up the side. Luckily he pulls himself into the doorway, closing it behind him. The sounds of the struggle above masked by the roar of the engines. The forces of liftoff assaulting Bernie’s head as he fails to get up from the metallic floor of the rocket. He will have to wait until they have arrived to proceed further. A dark tunnel forming in his vision as our beloved senator loses consciousness.  
Finally waking from his sleep, the world comes back into focus. The metal details of the containers in the walls, and various science tools appearing in front of him. His body is vaguely weightless as he remembers where he is. With great urgency Bernie gets to his feet, revolver in one hand, beads in the other. Traveling up the stairs Bernie finds the remains of the crew of the spaceship. One lie dead in his chair, two splayed out on the floor of the cockpit. In the main seat was the lizard man once again. 

“Your joyride is over, please step away from the controls.” The senator speaks, breaking the silence.

“You’re too late senator, I am getting the lasers and you will not stop me.” He says, ripping the chair from the floor and throwing it at Bernie. It strikes the side of the rocket with a large crash, shattering into bits of metal and debris. Bernie whips the beads at the man, gripping the scaled forearm of the looming beast. With a sudden jerk Bernie felt his body leave the ground as the monster pulled him towards it with it’s titanic strength. The senator braced for impact as he drew a dagger from his belt, deftly swiping at the monster. Surface gashes crossing the clawed hands of the beast as he manages to avoid the razor maw of his opponent. Repositioning himself on the ceiling of the rocket, Bernie pushes off flying towards the man, dagger extended. With great power, the lizard man rips the dagger from Bernie’s hands and throws it aside. The faint clattering of the dagger bouncing off of the far wall. The remaining hand grabbing the senator by his side and thrusting him into the ground.

“Stay down senator. This is our time now.” The man says as he floats off towards the unloading bay.

Dazed, Bernie rises from the ground, not knowing how much time has passed since the encounter. He makes his way towards a cabinet of space suits and dons the heavy garb.

“I guess I can’t go to work without my business casual.”

He makes his way towards the air lock, pistol in hand. At the window he sees the man in despair, looking out into the endless emptiness of space. Darkness consumes the image of the two white specs against its form. The senator opens the air lock, air rushing out past him with a violent sucking sound. 

“This can’t be, there are no lasers. It’s just space. Nothing. It’s all empty out here.” The lizard man floats at the end of the airlock. The blue marble of the Earth positioned below them. 

“It was all lies.” The man deflates.

“Always has been.” Bernie says, pressing the barrel of his revolver to the man’s head. With a light pull of the trigger, one last shot fires into the void. A body floating out into the void. 

“One last thing to take care of while I am up here.” Bernie remarks. He takes the controls of the shuttle and lands the pod on the dusty surface of the moon. “Now where did I leave you.”

The senator walks the surface of the moon for some time, until finding a uniquely shaped crater a walking distance from the American flag. Shovel in hand he begins to break away at the gray crust below him. Eventually he hits a metal box, dragging it up from the ground. What looks vaguely like an old aluminum lunch box, but heavier and several feet wide. The surface contains the image of a retro astronaut with his ray gun, the colors faded greatly to time. He returns to the pod and sets coordinates for the Atlantic Ocean. Sitting in the control room seat, he undoes the latch of the lunch box. It’s durable lid swings open onto his lap. Within the box is a sword sheathed in a dark black wooden scabbard. It’s edges are accented by the images of birds in flight across its surface. The golden markings stand in contrast to the lacquered wood of the sheath. The weapon smells vaguely of charcoal, as Bernie unsheathes the sword, revealing its long straight silver blade. The crossguard was set of golden wings with delicate tips. 

He holds before him a weapon that has seen many battles in his hands. A senator and his partner once more united. With nothing more than the will of his person, he calls forth the energy stored within the blade. He sits, reentering the Earth’s atmosphere as the blade is enveloped in fire, the flames illuminating his face as he prepares to confront a new evil.

“All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle.” Bernie remarks, landing in the Atlantic Ocean.


End file.
